To Hell and Back
by Rietta
Summary: When SO19 mess up an operation and raid the wrong lock-up, an abandoned freezer provides the CCU with a particularly disturbing case. Warning- contains potentially disturbing concepts and themes.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Waking the Dead or any of its episodes or characters. I'm just borrowing them for a trip down the pub- I promise I'll return them (sober!) in time for work tomorrow.

**Spoilers:** Let's say up to and including series 6, just to be on the safe side

**Rating:** T

**Synopsis:** When SO19 mess up an operation and raid the wrong lock-up, an abandoned freezer provides the CCU with a particularly disturbing case. Warning- contains potentially disturbing concepts and themes.

**Notes:** My first WtD case-fic, so constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated. Also, please let me know if you think I've rated it correctly.

**Warning: **This fic deals with some gruesome descriptions and upsetting concepts, and will possibly include scenes of a violent nature. If this bothers you, read at your own discretion. If you're squeamish, you might want to look away in this part.

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Detective Superintendent Rachel Bennet inserted the master key into the lock-up door, making sure her team were covering her. A brave woman, even she felt her mouth go dry at the thought that were anyone in the lock-up, they were most likely armed to the teeth and dangerous as hell. The lock clicked open, and she tucked the key into a pocket and switched her gun back into her right hand. She glanced round at the team, and nodded.

"Now!"

Swinging the door rapidly open, she yelled authoritatively as she did so:

"Armed police! Stay where you are! Don't move!"

To her relief the lock-up was empty. Almost literally- the only thing in it was a lonely freezer stood over by the back wall.

"Collins, reckon you can make a freezer into a bomb?" she demanded of her sergeant, who raised an eyebrow.

"Not when it's plugged in and working, Ma'am," he replied. "All that ice, the explosives would never work."

"Are you sure this is the right one?" Detective Constable Burns cut in suddenly. "Was it the third along from the left or from the right? I thought it was the third from the left, but this is the third from the right."

DSI Bennet turned slowly.

"Christ, Sophie, you're right! We're in the wrong one!" She glanced at the freezer again.

"Ma'am? Shouldn't we be moving next door?" Collins questioned, his face creased into a frown.

Bennet nodded slowly. "Yes, I suppose we'd better."

The trio trooped outside to join the rest of the unit and repeated the same drill with the adjacent lock-up. This one was also empty of people; but the amount of classified chemicals lying around proved it to be the right one this time. The junior officers of the unit immediately set to work combing the scene. DS Collins, meanwhile, stared at his boss. She seemed distracted, and it wasn't like her at all. Usually she was first there to start accumulating evidence.

"Anything the matter?" he enquired quietly.

Bennet frowned. "Neil, I'm just going to pop back to the lock-up next door. I'm convinced there's something fishy about it. Who keeps a freezer- just one freezer- in a lock-up, and keeps it running?"

Collins nodded in understanding. "Alright. I'll keep an eye on this lot."

The rest of the unit exchanged curious glances, but said nothing as their boss quit the lock-up. They thought nothing more of the matter until a shocked exclamation ripped through the quiet air a few moments later.

"Shit!"

Collins was the first to move, dashing next door like lightning. In the adjacent lock-up he found his boss staring into the open freezer- which contained miscellaneous chunks of what looked like human flesh.

**~ * ~ * ~**

"So what is this case?" DI Spencer Jordan demanded, staring around at the scene. It was a jumble of police officers. A team of forensic officers stood patiently waiting by their van. In the third lock-up from the left, the SO19 officers were calmly continuing with their own task under the watchful eye of DS Neil Collins. In the third lock-up from the right, DSI Rachel Bennet of SO19 stood in the doorway talking to DSI Peter Boyd of the Cold Case Unit. Inside the lock-up, Dr Eve Lockheart was giving the freezer a preliminary examination, watched by DC Stella Goodman. Dr Grace Foley, the CCU's Forensic Pathologist, stood a little way into the lock-up, listening to the conversation that Boyd now broke off in order to answer his DI.

"It's a body in a freezer, Spence. Though calling it a body is being generous- it's a jigsaw of human flesh. And there are pieces missing."

"Boyd!" Grace protested, frowning distastefully at Boyd's candid explanation.

Spencer glanced at the freezer and gave a low whistle.

"Now that's what I call a cold case!" He turned back to Boyd, ignoring Grace's protest of "Spence!"

"I take it it's an old jigsaw then?"

Boyd shrugged. "Eve?"

Eve turned round from her preliminary examination. "Hard to tell, Boyd. She wasn't killed yesterday, anyhow. Rough guess is she's been dead between ten and twenty years. Probably not less than twelve- this is a Mason and King freezer, and the company folded in 1997."

"But that doesn't mean she was killed before 1997," Stella protested. "The age of the freezer should have nothing to do with the age of the body."

"True," Eve agreed. "But let's say you want to hide and preserve a body. You're not going to use an old freezer if you can possibly help it- there's a greater chance of it breaking. You'd try to use as new a freezer as possible."

The DC shrugged. "Ok, you have a point there. You are our expert on preserving bodies..."

Ignoring the jibe about her body farm, Eve stood up and shut the freezer.

"Okay, I want this back at the lab, Boyd. Just take the whole thing, I'll take her out and get a proper look there."

"Ok," Boyd nodded, turning to beckon the forensic officers. Something on the front of the freezer caught Spence's eye.

"What's that?"

A frown crossed Eve's brow and she opened her mouth, but it was DSI Rachel Bennet that answered.

"It's a one-way ticket to Hell."

**~ * ~ * ~**

"Right, so far we have... One deserted lock-up in Lewisham..." Boyd scribbled the fact down on the glass board.

"One Mason and King freezer; built circa 1992, according to our resident freezer expert." This landed beneath the lock-up on the glass.

"One mutilated body, female, missing a few key parts. We'll find out exactly which when Eve's got her laid out on a slab." He slapped a picture of the open freezer onto the board. Grace winced. It was not a pretty sight. Oblivious to this, Boyd continued his summing up.

"And one single direction train ticket to Hell." He wrote this on the board beneath the freezer, then turned to stare at the team.

"Anyone know where Hell is?"

Spence raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, a few miles south of purgatory," he muttered sardonically. Stella glared at him.

"It's in Norway."

"It's in Norway..." Boyd repeated to himself as he added the word 'Norway' in block capitals to his note on the ticket.

"So," he continued, "we have one single-direction train ticket to Hell- which is in Norway- purchased on the 18th of June 1993. It was unclipped- so it hasn't been used. This looks like one for you, Grace- why does a killer stick an unused train ticket to Hell on the freezer where he's stored a body?"

Grace considered. "Well there could be several reasons. It smacks of a personal knowledge of the victim- he might know of some wrongdoing on her part, and be trying to direct her soul to hell. He might be sending a message to whoever finds her, telling them to leave well alone, or 'go to hell', if you like. It could be a place of special significance to him, maybe somewhere that they've visited together. Maybe they were supposed to go there together and she let him down. Maybe it's a direction to where the rest of her body is."

Boyd looked long and hard at his psychologist. "Or maybe he's just a nutter who sees it all as some kind of sick joke."

Wincing again at Boyd's candid speech, Grace nodded. "Or maybe he's just a _psychopath_ who sees it all as some kind of sick joke. I don't know, Boyd. A one-way ticket to Hell is not a lot to go on. I can probably tell you more when Eve gets back to us about the body."

As if on cue, the phone on Stella's desk rang. She hastened to answer.

"Hello?... Oh, hi Eve. You're ready to talk us through the body?... Alright, we'll be right there." She put the phone down.

"Eve's ready for us to..." she started, stopping when she realised she was talking to empty air. Sighing to herself, the young DC hurried to the lab.

**~ * ~ * ~**

In the lab, Eve stared with the slightest hint of satisfaction at her handiwork. The body was laid out on a table, and it was clear to see which bits were missing. She just hoped that the others had strong stomachs.

"Ok, what you got, Eve?" Boyd's demand tore her from her thoughts, and she wandered back to the table as she waited for Stella to arrive. As the young redhead stepped through into the lab, pulling on a white coat as she walked, Eve began her explanation, her sharp eyes not missing Grace's unconscious step closer to Boyd as she flinched at the sight of the remains on the table before her.

"Ok, what we have is a young woman in her early twenties; killed around twelve to seventeen years ago. No sign of sexual assault. Almost certainly murdered- for starters, you don't hack up the body of someone who's died of natural causes or by accident, not unless you're a psychopath. Cause of death- difficult to determine. No bullet entry or exit wounds, no visible sign of poison. Most likely instance is she bled to death, and was therefore killed with the blade used to dissect her. It's a semi-professional job, done with a sharp blade, non-serrated. As you can see, her head, feet and hands have been cut off, and the appendages are missing. All her organs are present, save one- her heart. And that's the gruesome bit. I couldn't say for sure until I've done a few more tests, but I'd say her heart was cut out when she was still alive."

It was quite possibly the first time Eve had ever seen Boyd rendered speechless. In spite of the information she had just given them, it surprised her. What didn't was the fact that Grace had gravitated so close to Boyd the pair were almost touching. The psychologist was the first to speak.

"That's horrible. The poor, poor girl."

"Who would do a thing like that?" Stella asked. She looked rather pale.

"Are we moving on DNA yet, Eve?" Boyd demanded. The pathologist could sense that the DSI, and indeed the whole team, shared her eagerness to find out who was responsible for the death of this poor girl.

"Of course, it's being processed as we speak. But you know it takes 24 hours, Boyd- I can't make the machine work any faster. So don't ask me again at least until tomorrow, alright? I'll let you know when I get anything else."

This was clearly a dismissal, and the rest of the team trooped back to the main office, Spence and Stella leading the way. They both looked quiet and subdued- it was not a nice case to be working on. Boyd glanced down at Grace as the profiler walked mutely by his side. He'd sensed her moving closer as they looked at the body, and recognised her distress. Mentally he resolved to flout the unit's guidelines and not stick up any pictures of the body. The case was upsetting enough without having to look at that every day.

"You ok?" he murmured as the door to the main office swung shut behind Spence and Stella. Grace looked up at him in mild astonishment, touched by his unexpected concern. She tried a laugh. It was undeniably strained.

"I'll live. Unlike that poor girl."

Knowing exactly how she felt, Boyd pushed open the door to the main office just in time to here Spence ask the same question of Stella, and see the redhead nod slowly. 'Time to get to work', the DSI thought grimly.

"Right, Spence, trace the owner of that lock-up. I want a name and an address, and I want to know how long they've been renting it. Stella, go through missing persons from 1991 to 1997- make a list of all the women in their early twenties."

Stella gasped. "What, you want me to look through _seven years_ of missing persons, Sir?"

Boyd nodded calmly. "Yep. That train ticket isn't going to get us anywhere right now, so the lock-up and what Eve's told us about the body are all we have to go on so far. Spence's checking out the lock-up, so you can look at missing persons. Got a problem with that?"

Stella looked sulky. "No, Sir."

"Good. Get on with it then. Grace, start thinking about what kind of nutter chops his victims up and sticks train tickets on freezers." He got up and headed for his office. The other three set to work without delay, sensing that this was not the time to cross Boyd. The atmosphere in the office was bleak.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Waking the Dead or any of its episodes or characters. I'm just borrowing them for a trip down the pub- I promise I'll return them (sober!) in time for work tomorrow.

**Spoilers:** Let's say up to and including series 6, just to be on the safe side

**Rating:** T

**Synopsis:** When SO19 mess up an operation and raid the wrong lock-up, an abandoned freezer provides the CCU with a particularly disturbing case. Warning- contains potentially disturbing concepts and themes.

**Notes:** My first WtD case-fic, so constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated. Also, please let me know if you think I've rated it correctly.

**Warning: **This fic deals with some gruesome descriptions and upsetting concepts, and will possibly include scenes of a violent nature. If this bothers you, read at your own discretion. If you're squeamish, you might want to look away in this part.

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"So what do you think?" Unable to comprehend the mentality of the case, Boyd had given up staring at his desk as a bad job and come to seek his people-expert. Grace smiled as she looked up to see Boyd hovering in the doorway of her office. To his distress, she was looking at photos of the body. However, for once he kept his mouth shut, obediently sinking down on her couch when she gestured him to sit.

"Well, it takes a huge amount of personal anger to mutilate a body like this...," Grace began. Boyd cut across her.

"You're sure it's not just practicality? He'd have to chop her up to fit her into that freezer, wouldn't he?"

Grace frowned. "Well, yes, but you do _not_ cut the heart out of a woman whilst she's alive unless you're seriously angry with her."

"Unless you're a psychopath," Boyd interrupted. Grace frowned, but ignored him. She could give him the lecture on the logic of psychopaths later, probably over a bottle of wine. That was about the only time he listened to her. Pushing the thought aside, she continued.

"Eve said there was no sign of sexual assault, but I think there's definitely a sexual element of to this crime. We're probably looking for a man, somewhere between twenty and thirty-five. Probably someone in her close circle of friends, or someone just outside it who badly wanted in. And as you say, we're looking for a practical person with some knowledge of dissection. Unfortunately, given the National Curriculum, that could be any Tom, Dick or Harry with A-level Biology on their CV."

Boyd frowned, and noticing this Grace cut across him before he could speak.

"Don't fret about it, Boyd- you can start dashing around like a bloodhound on a fresh scent when we get an ID on the body. And it shouldn't take Spence too long to find out who rents that lock-up."

In theory that may have been true, but in actual fact Spencer was being distracted by his workmate.

"Spence?" Stella ventured nervously, and he looked up from his computer screen with a frown. He was seconds away from getting a name to put to that lock-up.

"What?" he demanded impatiently, ignoring her tone.

"I know Boyd said to look at missing persons, but seven years is just too much. So I've been looking into that ticket."

"And?" Spence's tones were heavy with impatience.

"And I think I've got something."

"Which is?"

"Another body."

Finally giving Stella his full attention, Spence stared at his colleague, getting up and moving round to look at her computer. Through the window of Grace's office, Boyd noticed the motion.

"Hello, I think Stella's got something." He frowned- it was simply beyond comprehension that the young DC could have hit something solid in missing persons so soon. He got up and quit the office, Grace following.

"Why the sudden interest in Stella's computer, Spence?" Boyd demanded, and the pair looked around with a jump. Stella looked distinctly guilty.

"Um, Sir, I know you said to look at missing persons, but I've been looking at that ticket instead. And.."

She got no further with her sentence- predictably, Boyd leapt straight down her throat.

"And why the hell were you looking at the ticket when I specifically told you to look at missing persons?"

"Boss?" Spence questioned, daring to challenge the lion and cut across his tirade. The lion characteristically ignored him.

"In this office, you do what I tell you to do, understand?"

Stella said nothing, merely looked down at her desk. Grace felt sorry for the poor girl, but knew better than to interrupt Boyd mid-rant. Spence, however, felt the occasion important enough to risk it.

"Boss!" It wasn't a question this time, but a demand. Boyd turned on him.

"What?"

"Stella's got something, Sir."

"Well?"

"Another case."

Interested, Grace moved over to look at the computer, whilst Boyd continued to rant at the junior officers.

"And what the hell do we want another case for when this one is going as slow as rush-hour traffic?"

"Boyd." Grace's attempt to attract the DSI's attention was neither a question nor a demand, but too quietly spoken to warrant notice.

"And why don't I have a name for the leaseholder of that lock-up yet, Spence? Jesus, you've had long enough!"

"Boyd!" This time Grace's demand held enough authority to gain Boyd's attention.

"What?"

"I think they've got something."

Grace's backing was all that was needed to convince Boyd that maybe he should pause in his yelling and listen to Stella for a moment. He paused, then turned to the cowering DC.

"Ok Stella, what you got?"

Stella turned the monitor round so that Boyd could see.

"Another cold case, Sir. A burnt out car, with a body in it. There was an unharmed train ticket to Hell left on the remains of the body. The original investigation didn't get anywhere, so the case was left open on file."

"Well get the file, Stella; and have the forensics sent to Eve," Boyd ordered, clapping Stella on the shoulder. Recognising this as a Boyd-ian form of apology and praise, the young DC ventured a smile as Boyd continued with his instructions.

"You got a name for me yet Spence?"

"Coming right up, Sir." Spence leaned over and hit a button on his keyboard, causing the information to flash up on the screen.

"The lock-up is rented to a Richard Ellesmere-Smythe, and has been since 1993."

"Got an address for him?"

"Only the one he used in 1993: 58 Kensington Gardens. But I bet he doesn't live there now."

"He doesn't," Grace interjected, startling them.

"D'you know him, Grace?" Boyd demanded in astonishment.

"I know **of** him," the profiler clarified. "Dr Richard Ellesmere-Smythe, lecturer in psychology at Royal Holloway, University of London. I'm in the bibliographies of several of his books."

The younger two listened in interest, but Boyd seemed characteristically distracted.

"Ellesmere-Smythe... Ellesmere-Smythe... Now why does that name ring a bell?"

"Don't tell me you've read one of his books!" Grace exclaimed in mock surprise. Boyd ignored her- the name had nothing to do with psychology.

"Sir Reginald!" he exclaimed suddenly, banging his hand down on the desk. The others stared at him without comprehension.

"Sir Reginald Ellesmere-Smythe," Boyd repeated, staring back at Grace. Realisation dawned on the profiler.

"Of course! Sir Reginald Ellesmere-Smythe, QC." She turned to explain to the younger two, who still looked blank. "Sir Reginald Ellesmere-Smythe was one of the most prestigious barristers of the seventies and eighties. Put about a hundred big names behind bars. Hated by defence lawyer and criminal alike. Never lost a case. And according to certain books on the subject of criminal psychology, Dr Richard Ellesmere-Smythe's father."

"Got an address for this doctor, Grace?" Boyd was itching to get moving. The profiler shook her head, but before Boyd could snap: "Well get one then!", Spence interjected.

"I have- 46 King's Road, Chelsea."

"Right, Grace and I will head over there and talk to this Dr Ellesmere-Smythe. Spence, you and Stella make a start on missing persons from 1993 and 1994 until the files for this other case arrive."

"Just two years, Sir?" Spence question with a grin.

"I have a hunch, Spence, I have a hunch. Just indulge me, yeah?"

"Sure." Spence's reply was lost on the already closing door. He glanced at Stella. "Well I guess that makes things a little easier!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Waking the Dead or any of its episodes or characters. I'm just borrowing them for a trip down the pub- I promise I'll return them (sober!) in time for work tomorrow.

**Spoilers:** Let's say up to and including series 6, just to be on the safe side

**Rating:** T

**Synopsis:** When SO19 mess up an operation and raid the wrong lock-up, an abandoned freezer provides the CCU with a particularly disturbing case. Warning- contains potentially disturbing concepts and themes.

**Notes:** My first WtD case-fic, so constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated. Also, please let me know if you think I've rated it correctly.

**Warning: **This fic deals with some gruesome descriptions and upsetting concepts, and will possibly include scenes of a violent nature.

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46 King's Road, Chelsea was in one of the more Expensive areas of London. The capitalisation Boyd gave the word in his thoughts was perfectly deliberate.

"Hmm, something reminds me that Sir Reginald is no more," Grace muttered as Boyd pulled up the sweeping drive of number 46. She did not believe for one moment that Dr Ellesmere-Smythe's book sales supplemented his wage as a lecturer to the extent of affording this house.

"1996, heart attack," Boyd recalled the details as he locked his car.

"That's right, his fourth in three years," Grace nodded. "There was talk of foul play at the time- some people reckoned he'd been poisoned, or his medication tampered with." She pressed the doorbell and it rang tunefully. Boyd shuffled impatiently from foot to foot.

"I hate houses like this."

Any teasing reply Grace might have made was lost as the door was opened to reveal a tall, handsome man of about forty. Dark hair flopped over startlingly blue eyes, and the intensity of the colour astonished Grace- it did not come across on the author photographs in Dr Ellesmere-Smythe's books. For Dr Richard Ellesmere-Smythe this certainly was. Boyd clarified the fact nevertheless.

"Dr Richard Ellesmere-Smythe?"

"Yes." He was staring covertly at Grace, as if trying to work something out. Boyd bristled. He suddenly found that he didn't like other men staring at Grace, no matter how covertly. Especially not intelligent young psychologists like this one, whom Boyd suspected would be just Grace's type. Coincidentally, he seemed to be the type Boyd loathed. Time to shock the bastard, the DSI thought grimly, wanting to remove the curious gaze of the intense blue eyes from his colleague.

"I'm Detective Superintendent Boyd, and this is my colleague, Dr Foley."

Realisation dawned on Ellesmere-Smythe's face, and he smiled broadly even as a hint of embarrassment flickered across his face.

"Of course, Dr Grace Foley! I do apologise if I was staring, but I _knew_ I knew your face. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

Grace laughed. "I'm afraid 'pleasure' might not be the correct term, Dr Ellesmere-Smythe."

"Oh, Richard, please! Do come in. Can I get you a drink or anything?"

"No thank you," Boyd answered firmly as he followed the psychologist through to an expensively yet tastefully furnished lounge.

"Sit down," Ellesmere-Smythe gestured to the armchairs, and Boyd and Grace obliged mutely. Their 'host' took a seat on the sofa.

"So how can I help you?"

"You are the leaseholder of lock-up 4628 on St Margaret's Lane, Lewisham, yes?" Boyd was straight in at the attack before Grace could object. Ellesmere-Smythe frowned.

"No, I've never rented a lock-up in my life. We've always had more than enough storage space at home; and quite frankly I wouldn't trust my property to a cheap lock-up if you paid me!"

Boyd leaned forward and stared at his suspect intently, indicating to Grace that under no circumstances was she to accept this and announce their departure.

"What about if you had something to hide, Mr Ellesmere-Smythe?"

"Doctor," Ellesmere-Smythe corrected mildly, holding Boyd's eye unflinchingly. The DSI smiled.

"You haven't answered my question... Doctor."

Ellesmere-Smythe raised an eyebrow. "_If_ I had something to hide, _Superintendent_, I would hardly use my own name, would I? If I were sensible I'd use an assumed name. If I were malicious, I'd use the name of an enemy." This echoed precisely what Boyd himself thought on the matter, despite his distaste for the man, but he couldn't resist pursuing the matter anyway.

"Are you admitting that you have enemies, _Doctor_ Ellesmere-Smythe?"

The psychologist smiled. "My answer was purely hypothetical, Superintendent."

Grace was impressed. Ellesmere-Smythe's mild tones told her that here was a man who could easily hold his own and wouldn't be fazed by Boyd as so many people were. All her observations attested his innocence, yet she could not suppress the thought that he was certainly clever enough to be guilty. She'd like to come back alone, or maybe with Stella, in order to sound him out. Pushing the thought to the back of her mind, she returned to the present and nearly laughed out loud to see the two men still holding one another's eye. She considered asking a question to break the heavy silence, but decided to leave that to Boyd. It was probably better that way.

Almost as the thought passed through her mind Boyd settled back in his chair, breaking the spell. He smiled as he changed tack.

"Mr Ellesmere-Smythe, you wouldn't happen to know of any young women in their early twenties who went missing around 1993, 1994, would you?"

This time, _Dr_ Ellesmere-Smythe didn't even notice Boyd's deliberate slip. He had turned a deathly pale, and his eyes flashed with shock as they flickered between his two visitors.

"Oh my God," he whispered. "This is about 'Zanne, isn't it? Have you found her? God, she's dead, isn't she? How? When? Why?"

Boyd opened his mouth to snap that _he_ asked the questions, thank you very much; but a light touch on his arm stopped him and he let Grace handle the situation.

"Who's 'Zanne, Richard?" she asked gently. Boyd inwardly flinched at the familiar 'Richard'. It was far too touchy-feely for his tastes.

'Richard' focused his attention on Grace.

"'Zanne was my girlfriend in university. Suzanne Merriweather. She was a medical student at St Bart's. Gorgeous girl- your typical bouncy, bubbly blonde: sexy, chatty, sociable- but intelligent to boot. I was infatuated- she just made my _year_ when she agreed to go out with me. We dated from June 1993 until she disappeared without a trace in 1994. The police thought she'd dropped out of university and run off with another guy, but I never believed that. It was just an excuse so they didn't have to put any effort into finding her." His tones had turned bitter and he paused to regain his composure. Hope and desperation clouded his intense eyes in equal measure.

"You've found her, haven't you?" he repeated his earlier question, not missing the sidelong flick of Grace's blue eyes as she glanced momentarily at Boyd, or the fractional, barely perceptible nod of the latter's head in reply.

"It's possible." Grace's answer was gentle yet matter of fact. "We'd need DNA evidence to be sure- do you have an address for her parents?"

"I might have their address from the time 'Zanne and I were dating, but I don't know if they still live there, or if they're even still alive. It might take me some time to find it, though."

Grace smiled. "That's alright, Richard, that's what we have sergeants for." She rose to her feet, prompting Boyd to follow suit. A sudden thought struck Richard.

"Hang on, why do you need DNA? Can't I just go and identify her? Save her parents the stress?"

Grace shook her head. "I'm afraid that won't be possible. But if you do want to help, you could tell us if Suzanne had any distinguishing features?"

"Um, yeah, she had a tiny strawberry-shaped birthmark on the inside of her right ankle, just above the heel. Oh, and a small thin scar behind her left ear, from when she fell off her bike as a kid."

Once again the psychologist noted the almost imperceptible glances that passed between the profiler and the DSI, and inwardly he frowned. These two were obviously keeping something from him.

"You will tell me when you know if it's her, won't you?"

Boyd's smile held just a hint too much pleasure as he answered.

"Don't worry, Mr Ellesmere-Smythe, we certainly will." He headed for the door.

"Thank you for your time, Dr Ellesmere-Smythe." Grace shook the psychologist's hand warmly as she prepared to follow Boyd.

"Pleasure." He smiled as he watched her walk away, but when she reached the door he called her back.

"Wait!"

She turned to see him holding a book out to her, a heavy volume she recognised as one of her own.

"Would you mind signing this for me?" His tones had taken on the air of an eager schoolboy, and she smiled as she took the pen he offered her.

"Of course."

"Thank you." He took the book back and stared at the autograph as Grace crossed back to the door.

"We'll be in touch." Sensing Boyd's impatience, she followed the DSI out to the car, closing the front door behind her and noting Dr Ellesmere-Smythe watching from the window as she climbed into the passenger seat and fastened her seatbelt.

"So what do you think?" Boyd enquired as he neatly turned the car and headed out of the drive.

"Nice man, genuinely surprised, very helpful," Grace answered promptly. Boyd tutted lightly.

"I'm not so sure."

"Well there's a surprise!" Grace returned sardonically. "We've got a possible ID on the body, Boyd, what more did you want- a confession signed in blood?"

Boyd frowned. "There's no need to be so sarcastic, Grace. All I'm saying is, I wouldn't believe him so readily when he claims to know nothing about the lock-up."

Any reply the profiler might have made in self-defence was interrupted by the ringing of her mobile. She fished it out of her bag and glanced at the display, smiling at the name there.

"Spence!... Is she?... Well stick her in Boyd's office; they seemed to be getting along well enough so he can deal with her- I'm sure she expects no less... Yeah, we've just left Ellesmere-Smythe's- we'll be back in about ten minutes... Alright, see you then. Bye!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Waking the Dead or any of its episodes or characters. I'm just borrowing them for a trip down the pub- I promise I'll return them (sober!) in time for work tomorrow.

**Spoilers:** Let's say up to and including series 6, just to be on the safe side

**Rating:** T

**Synopsis:** When SO19 mess up an operation and raid the wrong lock-up, an abandoned freezer provides the CCU with a particularly disturbing case. Warning- contains potentially disturbing concepts and themes.

**Notes:** My first WtD case-fic, so constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated. Also, please let me know if you think I've rated it correctly.

**Warning: **This fic deals with some gruesome descriptions and upsetting concepts, and will possibly include scenes of a violent nature.

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"So who'd you tell Spence to stick in my office?" Boyd demanded as he led the way down the corridor to the main office. Grace merely chuckled.

"You'll see soon enough."

Boyd opened his mouth to complain, but the action was futile as he was already pushing open the doors to the main office. The whole team was assembled there, plus one interloper. Whilst Stella and Eve shared a joke in the corner, Spence stood chatting up the vaguely familiar woman who leant against the doorframe of Boyd's office, tucking a stray strand of her wavy shoulder-length mid-brown hair behind her ear as she laughed at what the DI was saying. Boyd tutted.

"Not in the workplace, please, Spence."

The occupants of the room all turned at the sound of his voice, and Grace shot Spence a sympathetic glance as profiler and DI converged on the DC and pathologist to give Boyd a bit of space- it was obvious from the smile that had broken out on the woman's face that Spence wasn't going to get a look-in. The DI shrugged good-naturedly, joining the three women in watching their boss' conversation. Grace was only half-surprised to feel a sudden constriction of her chest and a lump starting to form in her throat as she watched Boyd greeting the woman.

"Hello, Detective Superintendent Bennet, isn't it?" A nod confirmed the fact, and Boyd smiled. "Good to see you, Rachel. What can I do for you?"

Rachel laughed. "I find myself driven here by the curiosity of my team, to beg you to keep us informed on this case. I understand that you'll probably want to keep your cards close to your chest until you get a result, but just a daily memo saying whether you feel you're hot or cold would be appreciated, so long as you give us the full story at the end. The drinks will be on us..." she wheedled, and Boyd found himself unable to resist the big dark eyes like pools of melted chocolate that gazed at him appealingly. He could be excused for not recognising her right away, he thought- when he'd met her that morning she'd been kitted out in her firearms gear, her hair neatly tied back out of the way. Now, with her hair hanging loose over her shoulders and bedecked in the simple outfit of dark jeans and a plain green shirt, she looked very different. In fact, he preferred her this way, the DSI reflected as he nodded slowly.

"Alright, I suppose we could do that- so long as it's two rounds in the pub afterwards."

"I'll drink to that!" the SO19 officer laughed, and Boyd smiled.

"So that's settled. I'll make sure you get the memo tomorrow, Rachel." His body language steered her towards the door even as he spoke and she walked obediently towards it, not wanting to outstay her welcome.

"Thanks Boyd."

"Bye then!" the DSI called after her as the office doors swung shut, preventing the team from seeing Bennet's secret smile as she strolled away down the corridor.

"Now," Boyd turned round from watching the door swing close. "What you got?"

"A burning curiosity to know about Ellesmere-Smythe," Spence replied with a grin, deciding that Boyd's smile meant the boss was ripe to be tested.

"He denies ever renting the lock-up, of course," Boyd began mordantly. "But we got a possible ID on the body- a Suzanne Merriweather; medical student at St Bart's who went missing in 1994. Get her file, Stella. Spence, I want an address for her parents- we need some DNA for Eve."

"Don't you want to know about this other body?" Eve demanded, and her boss nodded.

"Ok then, what you got."

The pathologist jumped up from her seat on Stella's desk and positioned herself in front of the glass board.

"Ok, what we have is a male, early thirties, probably from London."

The team stared.

"You can tell that just from a burnt out body?" Stella demanded. Eve chuckled.

"Not normally, no. But it just so happens that this particular body was found in the driver's seat of a vehicle which I have identified as a standard London taxi, circa 1994."

"That's good," Boyd commented, allowing just a hint of admiration to creep into his tones. "Maybe you should be working in here."

"In the room next to you, Boyd?" Eve teased with a grin. "My ears are too sensitive."

"I'm not sure I like what you're insinuating there, Dr Lockhart," Boyd frowned, and Grace interjected hastily.

"So talk us through the file on this London taxi driver, please, Stella."

The young redhead rose armed with a pen and a photo from the file. She crossed the office and replaced Eve in front of the glass board and stuck the photo up, writing the facts underneath as she ran through them.

"Ok, on the fourth of April 1994 a burnt out car was found on a deserted common near Westgate, which is a small market town about 62 miles north of London. Inside was a body which had evidently been caught in the fire, and a one-way train ticket to Hell, which was completely undamaged. Unclipped, unused, un-burnt. It was purchased on the 18th of June, 1993."

"Same date as the one with our freezer body," Boyd mused. "Grace?"

"Well the train tickets do strongly suggest it's the same killer or group of killers," she conceded. "It's very original and individual; and the same purchase dates are very telling. This is definitely a premeditated crime or pair of crimes- there's a lot of thought and careful preparation behind this. So we're looking for a very intelligent killer. The idea was probably born around June 1993, possibly in Norway. Don't ask me why it took the killer almost a year to actually carry it out- I can't tell you that yet. Possibly he was just waiting for the opportunity. The deaths have very different MOs though- I think the girl was a personal killing linked to some deep emotion. The poor man in the taxi was probably just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and paid for it with his life."

The team were respectfully silent for a moment; then as usual it was Boyd who snapped into action first.

"Ok, we want to nail the bastard who did this." He slapped his hand across the twin pictures of the open freezer and the burnt out car. "But we can't do that until we know who they are." With each of the last three words, the DSI tapped his right forefinger against the two bodies alternately. "Stella, get me the file on Suzanne Merriweather's disappearance- I want a current address for her parents. Spence, check missing persons for a male in his early thirties, probably a taxi driver from London. Start on the 4th of April 1994 and work backwards. Eve, get back in the lab and see if you can extract some DNA from the burnt out body."

As the pathologist obediently quit the main office, Boyd grabbed the file on the Westgate taxi body and prepared to head for his office. However, Stella's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Don't you want this address, Sir?"

He nodded at her, and she obligingly advanced the information.

"Suzanne's parents, John and Catherine Merriweather, live in Kenton- Rose Cottage, 7 West Lane, Kenton."

"Where's Kenton?" Boyd demanded impatiently as he took the sheet of paper on which Stella had scribbled down the address.

"It's a village about four miles south of Reading, off the A33," Spence supplied helpfully, and Boyd dropped the file he was holding onto the nearest desk.

"Grace! Let's go."

"I've requested Suzanne Merriweather's file," Stella informed Spence once the door had swung shut behind Boyd and Grace. "Do you want some help looking through missing persons?"

"No need," the DI answered smugly, beckoning her over. "I think we've found our man."

Stella leaned over his shoulder to read the computer screen.

"That does look distinctly possible," she agreed. "Have you ordered the file?"

Spence nodded. "Yep."

"So now...?" Stella questioned, wondering if Spence's thoughts were running along the same lines as hers. His answer proved that they were indeed.

"Now we call Eve and hit the pub for lunch," the DI confirmed with a grin. "Boyd and Grace won't be back for at least an hour, so we've no need to rush."

Despite this statement, Stella had already slipped her jacket on and picked up the phone to call Eve.

"Eve? Stop whatever it is that you're doing. Boyd and Grace have gone out- we're off to the pub for lunch."

Without waiting for an answer she put the phone down, and over in the lab Eve grinned.

"Excellent," she murmured, quickly checking that everything was in its rightful place as she grabbed her coat and headed out into the corridor to meet Stella and Spence.

~ * ~ * ~

Indeed, they were not the only ones with the tempting thought of lunch on their minds.

"Boyd," Grace wheedled, trying to look and sound her most appealing. "You were planning to stop at a convenient pub for lunch on the way, weren't you? Or perhaps, say, a convenient Italian restaurant?"

Boyd rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright, I'll take you to the pub," he sighed, trying to pretend that he wasn't as hungry as she was.

Grace's eyes sparkled. "Just to the pub?" She tried to sound disappointed.

Boyd chuckled. "If you're good, I might take you to the Italian tomorrow night."

Grace laughed, putting on her best little-girly voice. "I'll be good, I pwomise!"


End file.
